Possesive
by Devil.and.Porcelein
Summary: John did not belong to Sarah.  John most definitively belonged to Sherlock.  And Sherlock was going to prove it.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Obviously we don't own, nor do we make any profit.**

It had started out simple enough, just the beginning of another day. It started out dull, painfully so. Neither of the inhabitants of the upper floor of 221 B Baker Street knew what to do with themselves. John stared into a cup of tea that was steadily growing colder while Sherlock stared at the ceiling, trying to gather the energy to get up to find the skull or the gun or both.

John broke the silence first. "I'm going out with Sarah tonight." Sherlock grunted in reply. "What, no smart comment, no snarky remark?"

"Would you listen if I gave one?" he asked quietly, sounding exhausted.

"No," John answered truthfully.

"I'm not exactly into futility so I'll keep my comments to myself, if you don't mind." John was oddly pleased.

"Thank you," he said, smiling. However, part of him was waiting for the other shoe to drop. He knew this was Sherlock he was dealing with and nothing was as simple as it seemed.

"That being said, I do not want her here anymore. Ever." There was a note of finality in the last word, even as he continued to stare unblinkingly at the ceiling.

"What?" John squawked, outraged. Sherlock deigned to shoot him a glare that brooked no further comment or contention. John let it drop, knowing the more initial fight he put up, the more likely Sherlock would dig his heels in and never rescind this decree.

"Fine," was his only reply. Sherlock shot him a sidelong glance then went back to his ceiling.

_13_

"All right," John said, shrugging on his jacket. "I'm headed off to Sarah's."

"Why?" Sherlock asked sulkily from his place by the kitchen sink. Had they been in any other flat in the world, it would have seemed as if the tall man hunched over the sink was doing dishes. John knew better. He may not have been a scientist but he knew where exactly _that_ occurrence would fall on a Bell Curve.

"Because," John replied, "most people enjoy having intimate relationships outside of with their flatmates." Sherlock's head snapped up at the word 'intimate' but John didn't notice.

"Oh. So this is about getting your leg over."

"No! No, of course not, I'm not expecting— Normal people want normal, not always sexual, relationships with other normal people." John sputtered before finally saying what he meant to.

"Oh, you're hardly normal, John, don't sell yourself short." John fumed a little before shaking his head and turning back towards the door.

"It's none of your business whether or not I sleep with Sarah."

"Isn't it?" Sherlock asked in a hard tone that John had rarely ever heard him use. While John had moved towards the door, Sherlock had vacated the kitchen and moved into the living room.

John turned back towards him. "No," he told him, "it isn't. Why would it be?"

"Because."

"Because is not an answer. Put your ridiculously large vocabulary to work." Sherlock had turned his back to John at this point and was slowly, deliberately shaking his head back and forth. When Sherlock finally turned back to his flatmate, John was unprepared for what he saw.

For some reason incomprehensible to John, Sherlock was furious. There was a look in his eyes that made John's stomach drop (but this was a good drop, a familiar one, but not one he usually got looking at his flatmate).

Sherlock's lip snarled as he looked down on his shorter comrade. Fire blazed in his stormy-gray eyes as he snapped, "You're _mine_! Doesn't she understand that?" He quickly ripped his gaze away from John's and turned again from him. If John had been paying attention, he would have caught something in Sherlock's face that looked remarkably like guilt.

John was not, in fact, paying attention because he was too busy being indignant at being objectified and raised his voice. "I'm not something to be owned! I'm not _yours_, or _hers_, I am _me_!"

"But you are mine! How can you not understand that? You are mine and she is taking you from me!" Sherlock had turned back to John at this point and had even taken a step toward his, shrinking the distance between them from five feet to three. He was visibly keeping his distance, as if afraid of what would happen if he got too close.

Incredulous, John laughed. "Oh," he said, "I get it. This is one of your tantrums!"

"Tantrums!" Sherlock yelled. "Tantrums? I am not a three-year-old and I will not be treated like one!"

"You are a three-year-old!" John replied, matching the taller man's volume. "You've been told that you have to share your latest toy and you don't like it! So you'll scream and yell and make everyone else miserable until you get your own way, but you won't this time, I promise you!"

Sherlock strode forward, closing the distance between them. He fisted his hand in John's collar and yanked John to him. The tall, thin man was stronger than he looked.

John was mad but his anger compared to Sherlock's was like comparing a lawn sprinkler to Niagara Falls. The stomach-dropping look was back, only far worse. John did not know when, how, or why but it had gained a predatory edge that made him want to start running and not look back. Or it should have. He didn't want to think about what it made him want to do.

"I. Am not. A. Child," Sherlock seethed out between gritted teeth. Hand still wrapped in a death-grip on the shorter man's collar, Sherlock moved them backwards. John let out a small grunt as his back hit the wall and he heard Sherlock's free hand slap the wall beside him, effectively pinning John between the wall of 221 B Baker Street and Sherlock's body. John squirmed to try to get out of his grip (he knew he was, in all honesty, stronger than the taller man) but accomplished nothing. Whether adrenaline had made Sherlock preternaturally strong or he didn't honestly have a problem with his position, he didn't want to think about it.

"Oh, really? What are you, then?" he asked cruelly, trying to keep a handle on the situation, expecting a smart remark. He was disappointed. Instead of hearing a snarky reply, he watched his flatmate's pupils dilate dangerously. It was dangerous because he didn't have to be a doctor to realize what it meant… and what would come next.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Did we suddenly become heir to BBC? Nope…**

Before either knew it, without a conscious move from either, their mouths were melded together and John's hand had found a way into Sherlock's hair. Sherlock pressed him harder into the wall in response to John's yank to his scalp. Without thinking about it, John bit Sherlock's lip. For his trouble, Sherlock's hand slipped from John's collar and he dug his nails into the back of John's neck.

John exhaled sharply against Sherlock's mouth when he felt something press against his thigh. Pulling back slightly, Sherlock gave John one of his signature smirks before leaning in to press his lips to the skin right below John's left earlobe.

"Told you I wasn't a child," he muttered into the shorter man's ear before turning his attention back on his neck. Sherlock sucked, licked, and bit his way from earlobe to collarbone while John turned into a mewling mess, hands clutching his shoulders while fingernails scrabbled for purchase in an attempt to keep himself upright as Sherlock continued his ministrations.

"Sherlock. Stop." John's words were summarily ignored but the waver in his voice wasn't. Taking pride in putting it there, Sherlock smirked to himself, lips twitching against the skin of John's neck. "Sherlock, stop. You know I'm with Sarah."

"Not tonight, you're not," was growled at him in response.

Sherlock left the words 'and you won't be ever again' out, they could sort out just who John was 'with' later, right now he was going to turn John into a mess of arousal and desire and then fuck him until neither one could scream anymore.

Something of his intent must have shown in his eyes, because John's eyes turned all black as his pupils dilated, even as he put up a feeble protest, easily silenced with Sherlock's lips and teeth.

John gasped as Sherlock pressed him harder into the wall, every inch of their fronts were touching, hard on's pressed together through jeans and suit pants. Sherlock was kissing him with teeth tugging gently, and not so gently, at his lips. John had never felt this aroused, this needy. He couldn't think of anything but the hands that were suddenly sliding up his jumper and the sudden need to mark that ridiculously long white neck.

They broke lips as John almost immediately went for Sherlock's neck, biting down hard enough to leave marks, sucking and nibbling, and moaning as Sherlock spent the part of his brain not cataloguing those sensation exploring the doctor's chest under his jumper.

John shivered as his jacket slipped from his shoulders and Sherlock gave him that sexy playful smirk before the detective ripped his jumper a part. John opened his mouth to protest, but Sherlock sucked hungrily on his nipple, and the veterans knees buckled, everything else forgotten as Sherlock pinned his hands above him on the wall.

John tasted amazing, slightly salty, and very human. Sherlock paused for a moment to lay his head against the doctor's chest, feeling his heartbeat, wild, and smell him, before he turned his head, sinking teeth into the nearest skin and pulling a shout from John, whose head thunked back against the wall, as Sherlock's mouth moved all over his chest, biting, licking sucking, leaving marks, laying claim to the wonderful man that could put up with Sherlock Holmes and love a sociopath.

Sherlock had to let go of John's hands as he sunk to his knees before the soldier, teeth tearing at the jeans suddenly inhibiting his decent. Two strong hands fisted in his hair while Sherlock yanked the jeans down and out of the way. A raised eyebrow took in one very interesting fact: John was going commando.

The ex-soldier hissed as the cold air of the flat washed over his cock, revealed suddenly to the eyes of his flat mate. When John looked down to see Sherlock on his knees before him, eyes almost playful as slowly, achingly slowly the detective ran his tongue up the underside of John's dick. John moaned, long past the point of attempting to be quiet, it's not like Mrs. Hudson didn't already suspect them anyway.

Sherlock whimpered in bliss as he took all of John into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks around the warm flesh and bobbing his head down. The hands in his hair tightened, tugging on his head along with the rhythm, a measure of control the doctor was trying to exert, which made Sherlock want to skip the middle steps and lay John across the kitchen counter. But he had to be patient, he had to at least get the two of them out of the kitchen, John deserved better.

When he felt John tense and the hands in his hair fist, Sherlock pulled back, keeping John from going all the way over the edge. "Damn it Sherlock." The moan in John's voice nearly made him change his mind. Nearly being the operative word in that sentence, Sherlock was determined to take his flat mate, but he wanted it to be somewhere a little less hazardous.

Sherlock kissed John again, teasing, enticing, pulling the other man with him into the living room, past the couch and into Sherlock's bedroom. John pulled himself out of the haze he'd entered right about the time Sherlock demonstrated his skill at fellatio to look around. Sherlock took the moment to look at John, gloriously naked John.

The veteran still showed the muscles of his military career in the muscles spanning his chest arms and legs, making a perfect counter point to Sherlock's pale skin and rake thin body. John licked his lips meeting his flatmate's liquid eyes. Carefully, as if afraid that John might shy away, Sherlock pushed him down on the bed, looming over his friend, his love. John tilted his head back to receive the slow, sweet kiss, hands resting on Sherlock's hips.

The detective pulled back for a moment, reaching into a drawer to pull out a bottle of lube he'd bought for a case some time ago. He turned back to John, asking a question with his eyes.

John's heart stuttered before remembering how to beat. He'd never been with a guy before, never let one, well, take him, but this was Sherlock, this was the man that ran through London in the dead of night after a taxi cab. This was the man he killed for. John smiled, took the hand closest to him, and kissed each of the knuckles in turn, slowly, looking into Sherlock's eyes as he did so.

The detective shuddered, taking his hand back; he set about preparing John, wanting this to hurt as little as possible.

At first it felt strange, then a little painful, but at every minute sign of discomfort, Sherlock leaned down and kissed John, slow and sweet, taking his mind off everything but the detective's lips. It was during one of these moments that Sherlock found John's prostate, and there was nothing more beautiful than the way John arched with a muffled curse, teeth suddenly coming down on Sherlock's lips.

"Fuck, Sherlock."

The detective sat back, purring with pleasure at the way John said his name. "Yes John?"

"Sherlock." A command, a plea, whispered for his ears alone. Sherlock dipped his head a kissed along the column of John's throat, sliding his fingers out of the doctor and slicking his own arousal.

John forced his eyes to remain open as Sherlock thrust into him for the first time. The detective was biting his lips muscles taunt as he fought for control. He was breath taking, and John ran his hands up those pale arms, grateful for this moment.

Sherlock pressed his head against John's shoulder as he was fully seated inside the other man, waiting a bit for John to adjust. When he felt a kiss press against his temple, Sherlock knew that John felt ready.

The first thrusts were slow, possessive as every inch of Sherlock slid in and out. Sherlock pressed his lips against John's neck and whispered, "Mine".

John's fingers curled in the detective's hair as he managed to gasp back, "Yours."

Lips met and parted, teeth marked necks, and slow turned fast as naked instinct took over, dominating all rational thought. John's blunt nail's left marks on Sherlock's shoulders, Sherlock's teeth proclaimed his possession of the good doctor.

Voicing their partner's names in unison, the two came, collapsing down on each other, breathing harshly.

Sherlock pulled out of the smaller man, causing another shiver to run down the soldier's back. The two cuddled together, John's face buried in Sherlock's chest.

The detective was almost asleep when he heard a sleep slurred voice whisper, "I may be yours, but you are mine."

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